


Torment.

by andiwilldieinthefear



Series: Visions of Dawn. [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:51:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1343107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andiwilldieinthefear/pseuds/andiwilldieinthefear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abused Gerard escapes in the arms of a boy he saw in dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Abused.

His skin, soft beneath my rough fingertips that trailed over his body, caressing every inch of him, inspecting the perfections of his figure for anything mildly resembling a flaw; only to discover yet more perfection. I was afraid to touch him; I feared the possibility of damaging his purity, his beauty. Yet I couldn’t resist, I wriggled closer to his sleeping form beneath the duvet in the black of the dawn, brushing my lips to his. Noting the softness of his mouth; the warmth that it sent down my spine. He stirred lightly, eyelashes fluttering...

*   *   *

_“Gerard! Wake up for goodness sake!”_ I shot up in bed, my dad was standing in the doorway, flicking the light switch on and off, making the usual exasperated expression. _“Are you determined to anger your mother again? You’ve got 20 minutes ‘till I take you to school, hurry up and have your shower so we can leave on time for once’’_ he closed the door behind him and I listened to his footsteps fade as they trailed down the stairs.

I couldn’t help waking up late. I’d been having the same dream for weeks, never hearing the mysterious boy speak, never seeing him in the light, never being able to discover the colour of his eyes, or even his name. What bewildered me most though, was why I had a crush on a figment of my imagination. I’d woken up every morning wishing I could have more time with the boy of my dreams. I’d find excuses to sleep, just to try and discover something new about him, but I never learnt anything more than I already knew: he had soft skin.

I wasted 5 more minutes thinking about the boy, then, snapping out of my trance, rushed into the bathroom. Tugging on the rope, the fluorescent bulb flickering slowly into life, I undressed out of my pyjamas and brushed my teeth as I waited for the shower to warm up. Attempting to tear my focus away from the boy and onto the day ahead in my asylum of a school. Rushing my shower while my brain raced through quadratic equations in preparation for this morning’s mock paper. The last ten minutes were spent tugging on one of my many pairs of black jeans, a t shirt from the drawer, smudging a little black kohl beneath my eyes and trying to push my still dripping wet black hair out of my eyes and away from my books as I frantically thrust a wedge of them into my ripped and fraying rucksack. The cars horn tore through the house and I snatched up a jumper off the floor and rushed down the stairs two at a time, cramming on my converse, snatching up my still steaming coffee from the counter and dashed out the door and into the icy January wind before throwing myself into my dad’s cherry red vauxhall corsa, nearly spilling coffee all over my younger brother Mikey. After apologising for being late again, we had a silent drive to school, as usual, arriving just as the school bell rang signalling the start of registration.

Dragging my feet down the nearly empty corridors, I made my way to my locker, still covered in yesterday’s graffiti; artistically drawn penises around the word ‘faggot’, I’d been too worn out to bother scrubbing it clean again yesterday afternoon. I rammed the key into the rusting metal and wrenched it open. Announcing my arrival to the whole school with the noise. I yanked the first and second period textbooks from my rucksack and crammed it into my locker, trying to fit it between all the junk that had accumulated during my time here, and wandered off towards my maths class, keeping my head down in an attempt to stay out of sight from Tobias and his friends. Unfortunately, today, like most days, I was spotted. I suppose it is difficult to hide when I’m the only person in black. They sauntered over to me, yelling foul language down the hall as they headed towards me; I kept walking, trying to appear calm; maintaining my breathing and my speed. I was expecting the foot as it blocked my path, manoeuvring around it, which only resulted in Tobias shoving me to the floor, my books and loose sheets spilling out of my hands and all over the floor, the rest of the group snickered whilst Tobias sneered at me. His heavy boot made contact with my chest before I could move, extinguishing the air from my lungs and leaving me motionless as they ran off towards their class. I staggered up as the bell rang for first period and I rushed to gather up all my creased and ripped books and sheets. I knew I would be late to maths. I also knew I was closing in on my 3rd late mark this week. I ran down the now empty corridor, my sneakers squeaking against the polished floorboards. I burst into my maths room, 3 minutes late, the mock exam had begun and I was stared down all the way to my seat by every student and Mr Ensley. I opened my paper.

Symbols, equations, angles, graphs, everything. My brain was unable to focus on anything, my chest hurt, I knew I was going to bruise, I’m sure it will fit in snugly with all the other purple and black stains on my flesh. I also couldn’t get the boy out of mind, so whilst I daydreamed about what my mysterious crush is like, time ticked by. I continued to flicker between working and daydreaming until the second period bell went and I realised how little work I had done. It was too late to do anything about it though, so I reluctantly handed my paper in and rushed off to art.

Thankfully my art book was left in the art room, Tobias’ shove would’ve damaged all my hours of work if I had been carrying it. At least something had gone okay today. Art was my release lesson. I had freedom to draw and paint without judgment. The moment my pencil hit the page I could drown out Tobias’, my family, everything. Well, excluding the boy. The art room is huge, it has high ceilings and large windows on 3 of its four sides, and it’s the only room in the school that is free of graffiti and grime. My haven. Canvases from previous students covered the walls, brushes were packed neatly in jugs and paints of all colours filled the cupboards to the left of the room. I took my sketchbook from the pile, sat at my large wooden desk, and began.

I painted how I felt. I never do contemporary art, but I had no idea what the boy looked like, so for the last few weeks I would turn up and throw paint at a page, then smear white across it. The white represented his purity; the colours represented the turmoil within me. The anger, the hurt, the love. The bell rang all too early, as it always does in art. The art teachers trusted me; there were only a few of us that took the subject, and I seem to be the only serious one, so they allow me to spend my breaks here unsupervised.

I left the room half way through our 15 minute break, holding my sketchbook close to me; I walked down the vacant corridors and stairwells keeping an eye out for Tobias as I made my way toward my locker. I guess something else today had gone well too because I didn’t see him. I pulled out my rucksack and took out the next two sets of books, replacing them with the maths and art ones. Physics and Graphics; not exactly my favourite subjects seeing as Tobias was in both of them. So much for Friday being the best day of the week.

I arrived at Physics early and took my seat in the centre of the room; a very unfortunate place to be sitting in a room full of people who hate you. I placed my exercise book in front of me and took out the only pen I hadn’t chewed to death. The bell went and gradually the rest of the class arrived along with Dr Champion. I tried to listen to his monotonous drone and make notes but I was mostly distracted by the numerous spit balls hitting me from every angle. The lesson ended and I had a page of doodles and some velocity formulae notes from the start of the lesson. I snatched up my stuff from the desk and left as fast as I could so that Tobias couldn’t get at me in the now cramped corridors as I made my way to Graphics.

This lesson would be one of my favourites because of its resemblance to art but it could not be thanks to the presence of Tobias. The Graphics room was all white with posters about aesthetics and comics with spotlights and tables laid out in rows. Mr Roberts was a nice guy, we both had interests in comics but he had us in a seating plan and seeing as my last name is Way, I am often at the back or front of the class with any teacher doing this. However, Tobias’ last name is Price and although we don’t have to sit next to each other; in Graphics he sits directly behind my chair.

I spent the lesson -as I do in all of them- enduring the relentless chair kicks as I attempted to focus on my project. I was drawing my own comic, it was called Killer. I suppose I could’ve been more inventive but given the circumstances I was doing it in; who could blame me. After an hour of character designs that were all ruined thanks to the kicking, I could finally leave.

Lunch was a period I really dreaded. The school had strict rules about spending it outside. Which -for me- did not mean 45 minutes of fun with friends, seeing as I had none. For me it was 45 minutes of torment.

I had put all my things back in my locker and was sitting on one of the benches watching Mikey play Pokemon trading games with his friends. I was trying to hide from the gang but to them I stick out like a sore thumb and they noticed me. I left the bench with an excuse about needing the toilet and walked quickly back to main school. Tobias didn’t know about Mikey because he was 2 years below us and we hardly looked alike; I wanted to keep it that way. I pushed open the doors of the school and started running. Thankfully it had taken them longer than usual to finish their lunch and find me. This gave them about 10 minutes to find me and beat me. I knew I was running out of hiding places within the school because of how often this exact situation occurred. I ran into the toilets and locked myself in a cubicle. The walls were covered in graffiti, some of it about me. Not that I was particularly surprised. I heard them enter the room a few minutes later, sneering comments about me. They knew I was here. Tobias knocked _‘’Come out Geward, we won’t hurt you.’’_

My heart began to race, I was sweating and my hands were clammy, my hair was sticking to my forehead. I leant against the door but I knew it wasn’t long until they kicked it open.

_‘’Be a sweetheart and open this door Geward’’_

The first kick was a surprise. The door slammed into the back of my skull. Three more were all it took for the lock to snap and the door flew open, propelling me forward against the seat, knocking my legs out from under me as I slipped against the side of the cubicle wall. I fell.

_‘’Hello Geward’’_

Tobias’ friends sniggered as he dragged me out of the cubicle by my hair. I tried to stand but I was yanked back down to my knees again. He released me and they all gathered around to watch as Tobias repeatedly punched me in the face and kicked me in the chest, I think on one occasion I even smashed against a sink.

They left me in a sticky pool of my own blood.


	2. Fear.

Yesterday I’d left school early with some excuse about feeling unwell; something I get away with quite regularly thanks to my pale flesh and stomach clutching walk that often accompanies a beating. I had spent the rest of the afternoon applying foundation to cover as much of the bruising as possible. Once I’d completed a few pieces of homework and my chores, I ran back up to my bed to try and find out more about the boy.

* * *

I kissed him, harder this time, my hands running through his hair; holding him against me. He kissed me back. His soft lips pressed against mine; parting just enough to allow his warm tongue to dart out. He tasted so good...

I woke up all too early. My mother had kicked the door open and was screaming at me whilst spilling her large glass of brandy onto my floor. Looks like she ran out of the vodka supply.

“GERARD WHY HAVENT YOU DONE ANYTHING YET YOU LAZY PIECE OF CRAP GET UP AND DO SOME WORK”

Her words were still slurred but I wouldn’t make her any angrier. I got up immediately and pulled some clothes on whilst she threw books at me until she finally got bored and slammed the door.

I flopped back onto my bed. It was 8am.

My mother was not always like this, she took a turn for the worst when my grandmother died. She used to wipe away my tears and defend me from the bullies. But not now. Now she has changed. I didn’t want Mikey to know what was going on; he’s popular and has friends, he doesn’t want older boys beating him up too. I don’t blame him, I’d feel worse if he was involved. Dad was, well, fed up, he does his best but he hates it here too.

I stood back up and stretched. I had a long day ahead of me. Saturdays were always the same; get up, do chores, finish homework, and draw. Recently I’d been drawing less realistic art, just like in lessons, I’d moved on to abstract stylised art. I couldn’t draw the boy in my dreams, I could only represent him.

The closer I became to him, the more I painted and the less everything else bothered me.

I shut myself away in my room and painted for the rest of the day.

Sunday was worse.

Scared to go back to school but knowing I don’t have much choice. Trying to prepare myself for another relentless beating.


End file.
